


He'll Come for Me (Version II)

by grapehyasynth



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Crack, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Masturbation, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-27
Updated: 2016-12-27
Packaged: 2018-09-12 16:48:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,798
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9081100
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grapehyasynth/pseuds/grapehyasynth
Summary: Fitz, Skye, and Jemma are short on cash and at risk of losing their apartment. Fitz offers to sell sperm to help them make ends meet. But he needs Jemma's help to do it.





	

**Author's Note:**

> A while back I wrote a G-rated drabble based on the prompt "he will come for me". But, being the trash I am, and having the trashy friends I have, I had to write a smutty version. Voila!! 
> 
> I now have a working computer and a bit more time on my hands so hopefully I will be able to post some more ficlets and drabbles! :) And someday update those multi-chapter things I've got going....

“No. No way! I’m not letting you do this!” Jemma says, for what seems the dozenth time, as she paces behind the couch with the flyer in her hands. 

“Jemma, people donate their sperm all the time. This guy I knew in high school made, like…” Skye glances at the ceiling, running mental figures, then finishes, “A _lot_ of money.” 

Fitz glances at her appreciatively. “We’ve gone through every other possible solution. If you find something else, by all means, let me know, but— It’s loads easier for me to donate than for either of you to, you know….” He catches Jemma waiting for him to finish his sentence and flushes rapidly. “You know.”

“But what if –“ Jemma winds her way around the couch again and halts before them, appealing desperately to Skye. “You’re adopted, you should understand this! What if someday there is a _child_ , an actual _child_ , with Fitz’s DNA, and he doesn’t even know it! How could you – what would you even—“ 

“Firstly, cheap shot,” Skye scolds her. “Secondly, it’s not like he’s abandoning his preggo girlfriend or something. He’d be helping people who desperately want to have kids—“ 

“And paying our rent at the same time,” Fitz reminds them.

“And paying our rent at the same time,” Skye echoes. “Besides, who _wouldn’t_ want his genius progeny?” 

“Hey,” Fitz says softly, before Jemma even has time to blush at the insinuation behind Skye’s eyebrow waggle. He scoots forward on the couch and catches the tips of Jemma’s fingertips. She would overanalyze it, certainly, if their lengthy friendship hadn’t been filled with multitudes of such unexplainable, intimate gestures. 

“Believe me, I’m pretty conscious on the whole absent-father front,” Fitz chuckles humorlessly. “But I’m not entirely opposed to the idea of meeting a kid, if a kid were ever to come of my – of my – You know. It’s not like I’m likely to have a kid of my own the regular way.” 

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Jemma mutters, scowling at their joined hands. “You’re in university, Fitz, you’re not meant to have met the love of your life already. Everyone’s marrying later, having children later—“ 

“I’m undateable, Simmons, don’t sugarcoat it,” Fitz groans dramatically. 

“You’re not und—If you’d just let me throw away some of those ratty tees—“ 

“So we’re agreed then?” Skye breaks in, ready to puke from the nauseating flirtatious-without-even-realizing-it display happening in front of her. 

Fitz drops Jemma’s hands as if he’d forgotten Skye was there with them. (It’s a legitimate possibility. Jemma’s tucking her hair behind her ears and avoiding Skye’s gaze.) “Right. I’ll go call the donation center and get that going.” 

Skye waits until he’s shut his bedroom door before unleashing her lascivious smile on her other flatmate. “Pretty protective of his sperm, Simmons. You could at least try to be coy about it.” 

“I’m not – that’s not what this is about – how you could even _suggest_ —“ Jemma huffs, unable to come up with an adequate comeback, and storms away to her own room. 

Skye shakes her head. If they would just hook up already, they could start sharing a room and they could rent the third room out for extra rent. But _noooooo…._

 

The day of the actual donation arrives. Fitz is ushered into a little room with a cup, leaving Jemma and Skye outside to wait and pace (in Jemma’s case). She’s agreed to the whole affair but she remains reluctant, sure that there must be a drug trial or some other option that doesn’t require Fitz to masturbate into a plastic receptacle. Though why that bothers her so much she’d rather not consider…

“How’s it going in there, buddy?” Skye calls, rapping on the closed door. “Any sign of life?” 

“If you’d be quiet for half a second maybe I could get something done!” Fitz shouts back, voice oddly strangled. 

“Just picture, like, the hottest ass you’ve ever seen – What’s he into?” she hisses at Jemma. “Is he a boobs guy, butt guy—“ 

Jemma shakes her head. She knows Fitz, and she knows – from a few unfortunate occasions looking for misplaced textbooks in his hurricane-wrecked mess of a room – that his taste in pornography is very limited, very specific, and certainly not covered by any of the magazines or videos provided by the donation center.   
She remembers the first time she’d found something like that in his room. It’d been a shock, certainly – she’d dropped the offending magazine like she’d been scorched – not because she didn’t approve of masturbation (in fact she was a vocal proponent, to Fitz’s dismay), but because she’d largely been able to avoid thinking of Fitz in that context. And by that context she meant spread on his bed, one hand down his boxers, or maybe no boxers at all—

Back in the hallway with Skye, Jemma swallows thickly and ducks her head. This is certainly the last thing she should be thinking about, with Fitz in the next room literally selling a bit of himself for their mutual benefit. 

It’s the last thing she _should_ be thinking about, but for quite some time now, it’s the only thing she can think about. 

Fitz is sweet, and gentle, and does ridiculous things like run into chairs because he’s too busy eating; Jemma still has to rescue him when spiders make their way into his room. But despite this – or perhaps because of it – Jemma finds herself increasingly wondering what he’s like as _more_. It’s become increasingly problematic having Skye sharing their living space. Jemma gets distracted when Fitz wanders out of the shower, toweling his hair, a plain white t-shirt stuck to his chest; she flushes when he passes too close behind her in their tiny kitchen; once they’d fallen asleep watching a late-night comedy show and she’d woken to his hard cock pressed against her from behind, and she’d had to rush into her own bedroom to take care of what she desperately wanted him to take care of for her. 

And now here he is, just a thin wall away from where she leans. The unremarkable oil painting on the far wall does nothing to keep the images from passing in front of her eyes. Fitz’s jeans around his ankles, his boxers lowered over his slim thighs, covered in soft, pale golden hair. One hand tight around his slick, reddened cock as he works it furiously, pumping up and down the shaft, the muscles in his neck straining and his face tensed as he tries to bring himself up. His pert little buttocks clenching. His gasp when he comes. 

“There’s gotta be someone you can visualize.” Skye’s still talking, and Jemma turns hastily away, popping open the top button of her shirt, finding the hallway suddenly quite warm. “An ex? Or even just a crush?” 

“Fitz doesn’t have exes,” Jemma says too quickly, too harshly. 

“Oi!” Fitz cries out. 

“Tugged too hard?” Skye teases. “Okay, okay, no really, I’m just trying to help. What about that girl in your lab? The red-head who works at the end of your row? I’ve totally seen her shooting daggers at me anytime I come to visit, she’s probably totally into you.” 

“Cadet Adams?” Jemma snorts, just as Fitz squeaks, “Bethany?” 

“Yeah, Bethany!” Skye grins at Jemma. “Picture Bethany. Picture her in that tight little lab coat if you need to. Picture the way she twists those microscopes. Whatever gets little Fitzy going. Come for Bethany, Fitz, come for Bethany—“ 

“That’s quite enough, thank you! If he’ll come for anyone, he’ll come for _me_!” 

The words are out of Jemma’s mouth in a half-shout before she’s even recognized the irrational, bile-inducing jealousy she’s drowning in at the thought of Fitz jacking off to a mental image of _Bethany_. 

The hallway and the adjoining room are absolutely silent. Skye manages to snap her mouth shut long enough to choke out, “Are you volunteering, Jemma?” 

“I – don’t be ridiculous, that’s not – we’re not – I couldn’t – I know Fitz, alright?” She’s scrambling to justify her outburst, and knowing that Fitz can hear everything they’re saying doesn’t help. “I know Fitz better than you do, certainly better than Bethany does, better than anyone does. If anyone can get him to orgasm, it’d be me.” 

There’s a groan from the other side of the door. 

“Wow, I think it worked already!” Skye teases. 

“Just – wait here,” Jemma mutters, grabbing her phone from her purse and dropping the bag at Skye’s feet. 

“I don’t know what you’re about to do, and I don’t want to know. I mean, I’ll probably ask you later when my curiosity gets the best of me, but for now, please let me keep my innocence. But, you know, go be the dirty biochem major I always knew you secretly were. Make me proud.” 

In the bathroom, Jemma leans back against the locked door and tries to give her pounding heart a moment to calm down. _What_ on _Earth_ is she _doing_? It’s not that her objections to this plan have suddenly disappeared. And how can she possibly find a way out of this that won’t make everything – her friendship with Fitz, her living situation with both her friends, the walk back through the waiting room past the other patrons – unbearably awkward? And, more immediately and practically, what exactly does she think she can possibly do for Fitz that his own imagination can’t create? 

She has only her own body, which, while functional and pleasant enough, she certainly doesn’t expect to end up in a centerfold anytime soon. She’s always thought herself a bit too pale, and she’s been meaning to start building muscle tone. 

She tries to think of moments Fitz has expressed a preference: outfits he’s complimented, times his eyes have tracked a little too slowly over her body, things on TV which made him stutter and blush. 

There’s only one thing for it. 

 

Fitz drops his phone with a yelp. 

He’s imagined Jemma sexting him – he would deny it under arduous torture – but somehow the fantasies were never _quite_ like this. 

And yet there are her breasts, in exquisite detail, spread across the screen of his phone. He has no doubt they are hers: even if he were not painfully familiar with the smattering of freckles across her chest, he’d know the little bob at the end of her hair anywhere. 

So now he’s looking at his best friend’s breasts for the first time ever, and he’s standing half-naked in a room small enough it’s suitable only for a broom cupboard, and the hand not holding his phone is tight around his own cock. He should stop. He should take his hand off and delete the picture and definitely _not_ wank off to it. 

But he has to admit, if Jemma’s intention was to catch Little Fitzy’s attention, it’s working. 

There’s something about the picture itself that makes Fitz’s breath catch, that makes him twitch between his fingers. She might just be contributing to the team effort, but if that were the case, he’d expect minimal effort. Maybe she’s merely overachieving as she always does. But her breasts are pressed together slightly by her arms, making them seem fuller, and the peaks of her nipples are taut. He wonders if there was AC in the restroom, or whether she’d – oh _god_ , whether she’d worked the nubs between her own fingers, gasping breathily at the painful pleasure. Or maybe the idea of him masturbating to her breasts had been enough to make her that excited…? 

He thinks again of Bethany in a lab coat, except this time it’s _Jemma_ in a lab coat, buttoned up from the bottom until it reaches her cleavage. He grunts and pumps once along his cock. He’s seen Jemma work with delicate slides and petri dishes and volatile samples; he wonders what _her_ hands would feel like, getting him off. 

 

Then he wonders what her mouth would feel like, sliding along the slick, hot, sensitive length of him, her tongue just brushing one of his balls, her hand squeezing the juncture of his thigh and his arse as she knelt before him—

“Fuck,” he whispers. 

 

Jemma is bent over in a chair in the waiting room, hiding her face in shame, when her phone buzzes. 

[Fitz]: _It’s gonna take more than that to get me off, Simmons_

She’s barging past Skye and shoving the (amazingly unlocked) door open before she can stop herself. 

“You absolute _monster_!” she shouts at Fitz even as he scrambles backwards, hands cupped over his crotch. “I try to help you by _exposing_ myself to you and you use the opportunity to criticize my body? As if the average woman isn’t insecure _enough_ about every aspect of her form—“ 

“That’s not what I meant!” Fitz pleads. For a moment he makes to gesture, to reach towards her, and she catches a flash of his half-hard, purplish-red cock. Jemma takes an involuntary step backward, a sudden painful pulse starting between her own legs at the sight. Fitz blanches and covers himself again. “I didn’t – they’re _lovely_ , honest, thank you, I just meant– I thought – _more_?” he squeaks out, adorably flustered and terrified and a little bit desperate. 

“More?” Jemma breathes. He can’t cover everything, and right now she’s noticing the little track of blonde down from his bellybutton to his crotch and the pronounced V of his hipbones and abdomen. 

“To pay for rent,” Fitz adds tentatively. 

“Right. Of course!” Jemma swallows. She’s forgotten, for a moment, that they’re friends. Flatmates. Lab partners. That Fitz is masturbating not because he thinks of her _that_ way but because they’re about to be evicted. “To pay for rent.” 

“So you’ll…help me?” 

“Should I just—“ She steps forward to quickly and makes a crude gesture, pantomiming the action she assumes is most likely to produce the results they need. 

“No!” Fitz cries. He turns himself sideways to keep her away with his shoulder, but in the process he exposes the pale, plump curve of his arse. Jemma could kill him for being such a tease. “If you touch me I don’t know if I can—“ He jerks his chin helplessly towards the little plastic cup. 

“So you want me to get you off… without touching you?” 

She’d never admit it, but that sounds _impossibly_ erotic. 

Fitz nods jerkily. “If you don’t mind – if that doesn’t, you know, make you uncomfortable.” 

“I don’t think _discomfort_ will be my main concern,” Jemma mutters to herself. She wonders if she can masturbate in front of him and write it off as all for the cause. Because she _really_ needs some relief. “So, what’ll it be, then? Should I strip? We could pretend you’re one of the characters in your video games coming to rescue the helpless little damsel—“ 

“Is that what you think I like?” Fitz demands squeakily. 

“Well, I don’t very well know what you want me to—“ She closes her eyes, trying to focus on the task at hand. Or _in_ hand, as it were. “Don’t worry, Fitz. We’ll do this like we always do, together.” 

“Together,” Fitz repeats faintly. “But maybe soon, because—“ He blinks down at his hand, cheeks pink again. 

Jemma permits herself a glance. Just the tip of his cock peeks out, currently looking very unsexy, not unlike a mushroom cap. She scrunches her nose and looks back at Fitz, the man. 

“Together,” she says again, and she wonders – it might not help at all but if it does – “Have you ever thought about that, Fitz? Us, together?” 

“We are together,” he replies, nonplussed. 

“No, but, _together_.” Jemma nudges the porn magazines aside and sits on the edge of the coffee table, facing Fitz. “Together in the … intimate sense. What that would be like?” 

Fitz’s hand slips, seemingly involuntarily, up his length and his hips stutter. He catches himself against the wall with his free hand. 

“What would that be like?” he whispers, gaze intent upon her face.

The air in the room has changed – she knows it’s a cliché and entirely scientifically inaccurate but she feels suddenly the tightness of the space, their proximity.   
She lowers her voice, both to keep Skye from overhearing and to let Fitz know that she’s saying this to help him, that it’s okay for him to keep going. 

“I imagine you’d be a very attentive lover,” she murmurs. “I imagine you’d start by running a hand gently over my hair, cupping the back of my head, ever-so-softly kissing me here, just at the corner of my mouth—“ 

Fitz’s eyes slip shut. He’s fully supporting himself on the wall now. His hand begins to move. 

“By the time you reach my collar bone I’m already mad with want.” That language won’t get them anywhere. “I’m already – wet.” 

Fitz moans faintly. 

“You move us backwards until we hit the bed – or would it be a couch?” 

“ _Simmons_ ,” Fitz hisses. 

“Right, yes. A bed. You fall backwards first and I crawl towards you so that my knees are on either side of your hips, my hands resting on your chest. You pull me down for a searing kiss, then I shift to kiss behind your ear – I lick down the curve of it.” Jemma isn’t sure that’s at all an arousing action, but Fitz moans again and his head lolls sideways, as if exposing himself further to her imagined ministrations. “While you’re distracted I undo your belt, throw it away across the room. I – I can feel you, so hard, so – so _ready_ , through the fabric of your trousers.” 

“Yes, yes, I’m ready,” Fitz pants. Jemma can see pre-cum leaking onto his hand; she thinks she should look away, to spare them both, but she – she just can’t. 

“While I work your trousers down, you strip my shirt off. You can’t even wait to take my bra off, so you just pull the cup down and you – oh my, you take my right breast into your mouth. It feels so good, your tongue sweeping over my skin, that I leave your trousers somewhere around your knees and drag your pants down as well. I just – I need you, Fitz.” 

“Jemma,” he groans. 

“I’m – I’m wearing a skirt,” Jemma announces frantically, deciding it’ll make things easier. “We’ve been out somewhere for dinner— a nice restaurant, the type with candles on the tables—” _Was that a necessary detail?_ “And now all that’s between us are my knickers, my lacy – my _soaking wet_ —“ 

“Oh god,” Fitz cries out. His arse tenses as he thrusts harder into his hand. “Take them off, Jemma, I can’t wait—“ 

“They’re off,” she assures him, squeezing her thighs together, craving her own release. “They’re off and I can finally feel you – I drag myself upwards, brushing my folds along your – your—“ 

“My _what_?” he whispers, and when she glances up from his still-wanking hand his eyes are open, dark, and fixated on her face. 

“Your cock,” she breathes. “Your cock is – is throbbing underneath me, I can feel it against my clit and oh god I can’t wait to feel your fingers there, your mouth, but for now I just need you, I need you in me—“ 

“Yes,” Fitz gasps. 

“I kiss you, I kiss you like I’ll never stop, and then you’re there, where I need you, and I sink down, I—“ Jemma grips the edge of the table. “You’re pressing into me and I feel like I could come apart just now, just from that first sensation, your heat in me and my heat around you and—“ 

“Yes!” Fitz repeats, more loudly. 

“I’m – I’m riding your cock but it’s not enough, it’s not enough for either of us and you roll us over so we never separate, you pin my hands above my head and you push, you push all the way in and I cry out as you touch places of pleasure I didn’t even know I had— You’re going so fast, so hard, I just – I need – I free one of my hands and grab your arse and—“ 

“Jemma-“ 

“I know, Fitz, me too-“

“No, Jemma, the cup!” 

She barely gets it to him in time. He groans and shudders into the little plastic cup but Jemma can only watch his face, the bow of his lips, the scrunch of his eyebrows, the little beads of sweat across his forehead. 

Then it’s done, and the cup is full, and his penis is still there, bared between them, but looking much less enthusiastic. Fitz sees her looking and blushes deep scarlet, hurriedly capping the cup and pulling his pants and trousers up. 

“Well then.” 

“Told you we could do it,” she says with false cheer. 

“Yeah, that’s – good work, and all that,” he mutters, unable to look at her. 

“You should – they’ll probably want to freeze that, or something,” she whispers, gesturing to the semen. “We should—“ 

And she rushes out the door. 

 

She’s been sitting on the hood of the car, alternating between crying and feeling absolutely foolish, for nearly half an hour before Fitz comes out of the clinic. Skye is nowhere in sight. Jemma wipes her nose quickly on the sleeve of her jacket and turns away from him as he settles down beside her, the car dipping under his weight. 

“D’you think we should talk about—“ 

“I’d rather not,” Jemma cuts him off quickly. 

Fitz is silent for a long time. When she glances his way, he’s gazing out over the frost-encrusted fields across the street from the parking lot, his brow slightly furrowed. 

“I should never have asked you to do that,” he says at last, voice low. 

“You didn’t ask, I offered.” 

“But it wasn’t – you felt pressured, with the rent and all, and – maybe you were right, maybe there was a different way, maybe I shouldn’t have insisted we try this.” 

“Do you regret it?” she asks quietly. 

He waits so long to answer she thinks maybe he hasn’t heard. 

“No,” he finally says, firmly and evenly. “But I regret that to do it you had to – had to imagine that stuff, which you must’ve known would work for me because – well, you know how I feel about you – but for you it was obviously uncomfortable and—“ 

“How you feel about...? Fitz,” Jemma interrupts him, turning to face him and laying a hand on his arm. “Are you saying – all of that worked because – because it was me, not because I emphasized stereotypically erotic moments in any sexual coupling?” 

“Uh, yeah, thought that was obvious,” Fitz snorts. 

After everything they’ve just been through, it is this moment – leaning forward, her gloved hand resting on his cheek, their breaths visibly mingling in the cold air for a second before their shaking lips touch – that feels the most electric, dangerous, intimate, and important.


End file.
